


The Sound of Silence

by ClydeThistles



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, One Shot, Thought Transference, Yennaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Post-Sodden Yennefer helps Tissaia cope with losing her magic to dimeritium.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiverStyxGoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverStyxGoddess/gifts).



> Prompt by @riverstyxgoddess and written as a thank you for fulfilling an artwork request I made.

Tissaia enjoys silence, has craved peace and quiet for years, savours the moments of solitude she manages to steal from the day-to-day bustle of Aretuza, the Brotherhood, the Chapter, the Kingdoms and every other responsibility that demands her attention. But not like this. Not this empty, echoing, loneliness that is now her every waking hour. Dimeritium cuts off a mage’s connection to their Chaos, severs their link to the shimmering web of threads that spans between every Conduit, rippling whenever a new one channels their power for the first time. And it closes off their thought pathways, not in the careful guarding way that raising mental barriers does but with a sudden violent impact. Even when she is not actively participating in thought transference, Tissaia feels other people’s minds around her, the gentle indistinct hum similar to the studious hush found in a library or a group meditation, quiet but not empty. But now there is nothing. Only her own thoughts rattling round her head and darkness as her eyelids are sticky with dried blood.

She is no stranger to dimeritium or its devastating effects, as a young mage she had been shackled once and vowed never to allow it again. The chains and cuffs had been agony on her skin, the nausea and weakness incapacitating. They seem child’s play however to the torment she is in now. Dimeritium in powder form is a new invention, one Tissaia cannot help admiring for its ruthless cunning even as she curses it and her former student for inflicting it on her. Gentle hands lay a damp cloth on her forehead, something fragrant emanating from it, a gravelly voice murmuring,

“Hush now, this will help.”

Tissaia tries to respond but only succeeds in great hacking coughs and retching over the side of the cot. The hands rub her back soothingly and settle her back against the pillows. Tissaia clenches her teeth, she will _not_ weep, she will not allow this person to see Arch-Mistress Tissaia de Vries in tears. To distract herself she concentrates on making her voice-box co-operate and manages to rasp,

“I want to see. My eyes, please.”

“Just give me a moment to get fresh water then I’ll clean them.”

The burning in Tissaia’s veins flares suddenly and she hisses in pain, rolling her eyes back and clenching her fists. Whoever is tending to her must be a mage because a cooling wave washes through her, easing the fire somewhat. Tissaia is torn between gratitude for the relief and envy at the effortless display of magic. Some field medic with mediocre talent is better able to summon Chaos and put it to use than she is and for a proud woman like Tissaia, this stings almost as much as the dimeritium. Tissaia searches in vain for the fingerprint, the signature, that should be shouting at her and identifying the mage but there is nothing. There was a time not a single enchantment could be cast on the Continent without Tissaia knowing it and its author. Most mages can trace the signatures of other mages whom they are familiar with but only those who are extremely powerful can track strangers, and only a handful of those can do so undetected. Tissaia was one of the few who could read minds without her presence being noticed, so subtle and controlled was her thought pattern. Yet here she is like some country bumpkin not even able to sense what spell was used, let alone who had cast it. She is pulled from her self-pity by the hoarse voice returning to her bedside,

“I’m going to wipe at your eyes now, try not to move too much.”

She feels warm water and soft fabric on her eyelids, loosening and wiping away the dried blood that has sealed them closed. She had stumbled when searching for Yennefer and hit her head on something hard, blood pouring down her face and then she had passed out, coming round in the medic tent some hours later. A chink of light appears, and she feels hope flare for the first time since she woke up. She manages to curb her impatience and waits until the healer has cleaned the last of the blood away and urges,

“You can open them now.”

Tissaia does and blinks against the light, her surroundings slowly coming into focus. Even the dim glow of oil lamps feels like blazing sunlight after so long in the dark and her eyes smart, watering with the glare. Or that is the excuse she gives herself rather than admit she is tearful.

“Am I a sight for sore eyes then?”

Tissaia turns her head a little to find the owner of the voice which has taken on a teasing edge and gasps,

“Yennefer!”

Yennefer looks bemused, “Who did you think it was? I know my voice is a bit croaky but surely you could feel it was me?”

Tissaia shuts her eyes against the tears that are now undeniably ones of emotion and turns her head away, “I can’t feel anything. There is no Chaos, no magic, nothing.”

Yennefer carefully lays her palm against Tissaia’s cheek, turning her back to face her, “It will return, the dimeritium will fade. And until it does, you will have your other senses and you will have me.”

Tissaia whispers, hardly daring to hope, “You?”

“I am not leaving. Not this time.”

And when Yennefer smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead, Tissaia realises she was wrong. Because she can _feel_ everything, there is no emptiness, not when Yennefer is with her.

* * * *

Yennefer shifts so she is sitting more comfortably and in doing so, accidentally brushes her bare foot against Tissaia’s. They are sitting on the sofa in her study in Aretuza, stealing a few precious moments of leisure in the whirlwind that has been raging since the remaining mages returned from Sodden a week ago. Yennefer has barely left Tissaia’s side, the older woman anxious about being left alone with the Brotherhood when she is still without her magic. There are those who would pounce on the opportunity to manipulate her when she is so vulnerable and Yennefer has been sustaining mental barriers for the both of them, ensuring none can access Tissaia’s thoughts without her knowledge. A careful friendship is blooming in the warmth of their admissions at Sodden, the respect and admiration that had always been there deepening into affection and fondness. They are cautious with one another still, the hurts of the past still raw but gradually healing. They have found a common ground in reading, Tissaia eagerly poring over anything she can get her hands on, anxious to exercise her mind that feels like it is twiddling its thumbs without the constant stimulation of Chaos. And Yennefer enjoys being read to, letting her mind drift as Tissaia’s voice paints pictures for her. Some days it is rather boring analytical essays but occasionally, Tissaia can be convinced to read a story, a romantic tale or a swashbuckling adventure, something poetic perhaps.

Which is how they come to find themselves at opposite ends of a recliner, feet tangling together in the middle and sharing the warmth of a bearskin, the late afternoon sun filtering in through the windows. Tissaia starts to squint a little in the creeping dimness and Yennefer flicks her hand casually, igniting some candles and lanterns. Tissaia pauses and frowns, letting the book fall forgotten into her lap. Yennefer sighs,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’ll use the strike-flint next time.”

“Do not apologise. It is my own foolishness. I cannot expect you to manage without magic just because I must.”

“Not for long, it will come back to you. It must.”

“I wish I shared your certainty.”

Yennefer smirks and pokes gently with her toe, “My stubbornness, you mean?”

Tissaia smiles knowingly and says nothing, but when her hand skims over Yennefer’s ankle to retrieve the book, she keeps it there, curling her palm around it and rubbing little circles with her thumb. Yennefer reaches and plucks the book from her hands,

“I’ll read to you for once. You’re meant to be resting after all.”

“I have had enough rest to drive anyone insane…”

Despite her protests, Tissaia slumps comfortably and watches Yennefer through her eyelashes, her thumb still stroking. Yennefer starts to read out loud, willing it to require enough concentration that she can block out the warmth of Tissaia’s hand on her ankle. Because it is an old habit to screen her thoughts, to tamp down the desires and longing that Tissaia would be able to read if Yennefer allowed even the slightest hint of it into her mind. It is only when she feels something snag on the edge of her consciousness that Yennefer remembers she does not need to hide her thoughts because Tissaia cannot see them anymore. What’s more, the Rectoress is apparently unaware of her own projections because the tugging at Yennefer’s periphery is in fact Tissaia. Curious, but infinitely careful to maintain a neutral expression and continue reading aloud, Yennefer catches the wisp of thought that is brushing against her mind. It is unmistakeably Tissaia’s, her signature one that Yennefer would know anywhere, but it is lighter, less solid than usual, not weighed down by the careful control that the Rectoress usually encases all her thoughts in. Yennefer realises this is what Tissaia feels like when she is unaware that she is being studied, when she is completely at ease. Part of Yennefer wants to believe it is because Tissaia now trusts her, but the younger mage knows it is only this way because Tissaia is unconsciously projecting, not in tune with her thoughts without the Chaos to channel them. 

_Has she always been this kind and caring? Or is she only this way because she feels sorry for me? She’s letting me touch her… I’ve wanted to for so long._

Yennefer shivers as she translates the thought into her own mind, hearing what is going through Tissaia’s head. It cannot be? Surely, they have not both been dancing round each other all these years, each convinced the other would never reciprocate? Another thought appears and Yennefer reaches for it eagerly,

_Gods she’s beautiful! The way her mouth moves round the words makes me feel drunk… Get a hold of yourself, you old fool!_

It takes all of Yennefer’s control not to lunge across the sofa and kiss Tissaia, to sweep her up in her arms and show her she is neither old nor a fool. But she cannot. Not when it would mean admitting she has as good as spied on her. It is becoming impossible not to listen though, Tissaia’s thoughts becoming a near-constant stream against Yennefer’s mind, the strength and feeling behind them intensifying as they start to feed off the delicious tension that now crackles between the two women. Tissaia must feel it, it is not a magical phenomenon, merely the age-old chemical cataclysm that simmers between two people when they suddenly become aware of each other’s bodies. She shows no sign of noticing it however and her thoughts turn breathy and thick with fervour. At last, Yennefer can bear it no longer and she stammers to a halt, dropping the book. Tissaia leans forward in concern,

“Are you alright?”

Yennefer blushes but cannot think of any other way to explain this without lying and she is no longer prepared to be dishonest with Tissaia, not when their trust is so new and fragile.

“You’re projecting. I promise, I’ve been trying not to listen.”

Tissaia looks confused for a moment and then horrified as realisation dawns on her and she goes a deep scarlet colour, snatching her hand away from Yennefer’s ankle. She mutters, trying to disentangle herself from Yennefer and the fur, determined to escape with what little remains of her dignity,

“Forgive me… I hadn’t realised you’d dropped our barriers… I never would have allowed such thoughts if I’d known they might be heard…I’ll leave now, I can only imagine how uncomfortable I have made you.”

“No! Tissaia, wait!”

Tissaia has already made it to the door by the time Yennefer manages to stand so she does the first thing that comes to her mind and casts an enchantment locking it. Tissaia rattles the handle and then turns to face her enraged,

“How dare you? Let me out this instant!”

“Tissaia-”

“I may not have my magic, but I am still your superior, this is still my school and you are still a brat too cocky for her own good! Open this door or I will do so with your skull!”

Yennefer resists the urge to cast all manner of hoaxes and wipe the self-righteous indignation off Tissaia’s face. She must not lose her, not when they have come so close. So, she takes a deep breath and replies firmly,

“No. Not until you’ve calmed down and talked to me.”

“There is nothing to be said.”

Tissaia shrinks against the door as Yennefer comes closer and says softly, “There is everything to be said, Tissaia.”

“Yennefer… please…”

There it is. That word again. That single bloody word that had made Yennefer follow her to Sodden and unleash hell to save her. Yennefer sighs and holds her hands out, palms upwards, placatingly,

“I’m not going to force you to talk. Or keep you here if you truly want to leave. Just, please, give it a moment before you rush off in embarrassment.” She reaches out carefully and tucks a strand of hair back behind Tissaia’s ear, “You can’t hear my thoughts but believe me when I say they are no less effusive then yours have been.”

Tissaia swallows hard and (although Yennefer would not have thought it possible) goes an even darker shade of red. She is still Tissaia though and manages to reply with biting wit,

“When did you become so eloquent? There was a time you would have thrown something at me or set fire to someone rather than hold a reasoned discussion.”

“It must be all the literature I’ve been subjected to of late.”

Yennefer smirks carefully, searching Tissaia’s face for indications whether they have returned to being able to tease one another. And she breathes a sigh of relief when the older woman relaxes a little and looks at her feet abashed,

“So, what exactly did I unwittingly make you privy to? Have I ruined my reputation as a frigid, cold hearted witch of a woman?”

Yennefer takes her hand and caresses the back of it with her thumb, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Tissaia’s breath hitches a little but she looks up through heavy-lidded eyes and murmurs, “I know I’m safe with you. You burned them all but me. Why?”

Yennefer leans their foreheads together, harking back to that bittersweet moment kneeling in the mud when they had finally stopped fighting one another only to face death. She trembles when Tissaia’s hand comes up to cup her cheek just as before and replies,

“Because when I said I wanted everything I meant you, I have always wanted you, Tissaia.”

Tissaia does not need her Chaos to know Yennefer is telling the truth, she can see it in her eyes and it is this sincerity that finally convinces her to surrender control and pull the younger woman close, stretching up to press their lips together. And it is the sweeping joy and desire and love coursing through her that finally breaks through the bonds of the dimeritium. Consumed by the emotions that she has worried all her life will be what kill her but in fact are what save her. Yennefer senses the return of Tissaia’s Chaos, feels the warmth and quivering of it beneath her hands, sees the lanterns flare and hears the air hum. She kisses her deeper, wrapping her arms round her so that Tissaia is not tempted to run away and shut it all down. And when she feels Tissaia stroking at her mind with her own, Yennefer lets her in, their thoughts linked again at last.

_I’ve missed you._

_I would have chosen no one else to be the first mind I felt again. Yours has always been so beautiful, so chaotically beautiful._

_Can you see my thoughts? The ones I’ve been hiding from you?_

_I see you. I hear you. I love you._

Tissaia stiffens momentarily, not intending for that last statement to have been projected, her technique still a little rusty after so long of silence. Yennefer keeps kissing her though and lets a single, simple truth fill the space between them. It has taken nearly a hundred years, but she has finally found the right words to say,

_I love you too._


End file.
